Chapter 5 #2
He couldn’t speak. Not without cursing her father’s name or promising to burn down anything that hurt her. But he didn’t think she needed that from him. “I’m sorry,” was all he said rough, low, and barely enough to carry the heat of everything he couldn’t put into words.
“I was too, for a long time. It’s why I don’t react well to having choices taken away by people with more power.”
She paused, then looked at him with something heavier than any accusation had ever been. “I thought you were doing that. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
He followed her in silence, ignoring his pounding heart. There was so much he could’ve said. So much he wished he could do. To go back, find the girl she’d been, and tell her she’d survive, that she’d become more than a bloodline, more than a pawn.
But Beth didn’t need saving or healing.
She’d done it herself.
Piece by piece.
Bone by bone.
Maybe he could make space for her to breathe easier now.
He reached for her hand.
His touch was gentle at first, testing and tentative.
She stiffened, just slightly. Her breath hitched. Then her eyes met his, wary but curious.
She didn’t pull away.
Instead, her fingers curled slowly into his and stars, the way her touch shot through him was like lighting a fuse. His pulse thundered. Every inch of him was aware of her warmth, her strength.
She didn’t look at him again, but the corner of her mouth twitched up, and her hand stayed in his.
And that was enough.
For now.
WHAT WAS HAPPENING? What in the world was happening?”
Beth swallowed, questioning her sanity. Because he was holding her hand. And now she was tingling. From hand-holding, like some proper Victorian heroine. Though honestly, they probably weren’t allowed to do that either. Still.
It was a problem. A big one. Not just because she didn’t usually tingle, but because everything inside her felt unmoored.
Off-kilter. Not from the touch itself, but from what it stirred.
He was holding her hand, and suddenly her brain was sliding into territory that definitely required adult supervision.
All this after years of ignoring him, of actively hating his perfect face.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Okay, not ignoring him. Exactly. She’d been... watching. Quietly, from afar.
Aryon was stupidly hot in that angelic, too-perfect-to-touch way, like he belonged in a Renaissance painting or a cathedral ceiling.
Gael? He was brooding intensity and cut-from-stone elegance.
His scowl alone could knock the wind out of you.
There was nothing floaty or ethereal about him.
No, his beauty had weight, it sank into your bones, and made you think of hands gripping hips and being pressed into a wall.
And she had spent years stuffing those dumb thoughts down out of sheer principle. Knowing nothing good would come from those.
But then Elara told her who he really was, and something broke open.
Suddenly, all those little, pushed aside memories hit at once.
How he always showed up to help his cousins, even off-duty.
How he explained complicated magical theory to humans with patience.
How he looked at Aryon and Elara like a proud older brother.
His face, normally guarded, always softened with them.
He’d always been good. She just hadn’t let herself see it.
And now, walking beside him through the sun-dappled and hushed forest, the air fragrant with pine and warm earth, she wanted to know more about him, about the elf behind the myth and the rank. And wasn’t that a trip?
Her brain spun, completely blank. “So... are you staying long?”
Ugh. That’s what she came up with? Thank God Gael, ever gracious, didn’t even blink. “Two weeks at least,” he said. Sunlight caught in his pale hair. “I had an absurd amount of accumulated time off. They practically begged me to stay away.”
“Your project went well, then?” she asked, grasping at something more intelligent.
He nodded, pride flickering in his eyes. “It did.” Then, more quietly, “I know you heard what I said at Litha.”
She flinched, both from the quick change of topic and for the actual topic. No point pretending she didn’t know what he was talking about. Not only he’d know, but they really needed to address that, anyway. “I did,” she admitted. “And I’m not proud to say it played into why I was so hard on you.”
“It should have,” he said simply. “I was a douchebag.”
She blinked. “Hey, that’s exactly what I thought!” Then groaned and rolled her eyes as he laughed. “Sorry. Not the moment for enthusiasm.”
But he just smiled. “I was under a lot of stress that night,” he said. “And I didn’t need my attraction to you getting back to the wrong people. Not from Val, obviously, but someone always seems to be listening.”
She stopped. He did too. “Wait. What attraction?”
His smile turned soft. A little wicked. “Mine to you. What else?”
And then he reached out, ran a single finger up from the base of her throat to the soft curve beneath her chin. Slow, featherlight. It didn’t even reach her lips before she swayed toward him.
“You’ve been my little secret for years,” he murmured.
She had a voice, right? Right?? “I... I have?” she breathed.
He nodded, his gaze roaming her face like it held a secret only for him.
“You are human, Beth. And I’m part of the High Family.
One step below the Lord and Lady.” His voice dropped, a bitter edge slipping in.
“The one step that keeps me from being swallowed whole by it, but I’m still up there with Val. ”
His hand rose again, tracing the slope of her cheek with aching care before disappearing into her hair. “My family—my mother—would rage if she knew how much I crave a human waitress. And yet.”
The words shouldn’t have thrilled her. They should’ve stung. She should be outraged. But his tone, the need threaded through it, was its own kind of seduction. His eyes, more violet now, held her in place while she drowned in him. And it was glorious.
“I don’t need to read you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t need magic. Just your eyes. Your scent. And I know.” His jaw tightened. “It’s making it very hard to behave.”
Well, would she even want him to?
Kind of, but her skin was hot and hypersensitive, her whole body aware of him in a way that made her feel hunted and seen and wanted in all the intimate and dirty ways. Her thighs clenched with need; her nipples tightened against the fabric of her t-shirt. Her panties were soaked and useless.
Gael inhaled sharply, as if her scent had just punched through his last layer of restraint. “I wish I could show you what you do to me, Beth,” he said, his voice like velvet dragged over gravel. “How you make me want.”
Her breath caught, and something in her broke open. She stepped into him, hesitation forgotten, pulled by something stronger than reason. Their lips brushed in a kiss so soft, so tentative, it was barely a kiss at all. But it felt seismic, like something ancient had just shifted inside her soul.
A slow taste. A shared breath. He tasted like the apples they’d canned and something wilder underneath. Something that belonged to this moment, to this forest, to this lifetime.
When his tongue ghosted over her lip, the world tilted. Heat shot down her spine like a lightning strike that knew her name. Her knees gave out just enough for her to grip his shirt, clinging to him out of instinct.
His hand slid to her waist, anchoring her, possessive even as he inched away just enough to rest his forehead against hers. Their breaths tangled, unsteady, the smell of him settling inside of her as if there was no other choice.
The world crept back in slowly. Birds began to sing again, soft and cautious, unsure it was okay to interrupt. Wind stirred the leaves above them, rustling like whispers. The hush around them felt like the forest had held its breath for them and was only now exhaling.
“I’d apologize,” he murmured against her skin, his voice still thick, “but you’d know it was a lie.”
A breathless laugh escaped her, uneven. “You wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near me if I didn’t want you to.”
They stood like that for a moment longer, suspended in something that didn’t have a name yet, but eventually, the spell began to loosen.
It didn’t break, but settled into something more solid.
Gael lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm like she was something rare he didn’t dare rush.
Then, without a word, he moved to stand beside her, their fingers still laced.
He didn’t pull or lead. Just waited. And when she stepped forward, he fell into pace beside her like they’d always belonged that way.
“I remember when you first came to Mystic Hollow,” he said.
“I was a mess,” she replied quietly. “If there ever was one.”
“I could see it. Your aura was fractured. I could feel your pain if I opened myself to it.”
“You never said anything.”
“I can manipulate perception and memory, even heal a spirit, but....” His jaw tensed with regret.
“Aryon told me you were safe, so I stayed back. Watched from a distance.” He glanced at her, something raw in his expression.
“Your aura began to brighten, and you became you.” He paused.
“I watched it happen. All that strength, all that warmth. And I wondered what could have possibly wounded someone like you.” He looked away.
“The High Lord and Lady wouldn’t tell me. ”
“You asked?”
“Very discreetly, of course, because it wasn’t really any of my business.” He let out a chuckle, “And because I couldn’t be caught obsessing over you.”
Beth blinked. “Because I’m a human waitress?” Even asking it felt like a bruise being pressed.
He didn’t flinch nor sugarcoated it. “Yes.”
Anger sparked, sharp and sudden, crackling up her spine, making her voice a little tighter than she’d wanted. “I still am, so what are we even doing here?”